


Don't Envy The Dead

by AliceMarylin1999



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Service Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 19:08:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20953457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceMarylin1999/pseuds/AliceMarylin1999
Summary: Aziraphale tells Crowley about his affair with Oscar Wilde, but breaks down in tears, remembering his late lover's unfortunate destiny. Crowley is mad with jealousy but he hides it to comfort poor mourning Aziraphale.Set in 1991.





	Don't Envy The Dead

It was a nice and warm evening of July 1991, and by the end of a long and very joyful summer day, Crowley was walking Aziraphale back home to his bookshop in Soho.

"I have two tickets for tomorrow evening", he said casually, desperately wanting the angel to get interested. "Something from Oscar Wilde, I believe. The importance of being earnest, or something like..."

"I know the play, thank you very much", answered Aziraphale, a bit dryly and reserved, to Crowley's surprise. "I'm afraid I have to decline"

"Well... Fine. I thought you wanted more... Cultural experience. Not just... Restaurants and ranting in the parks"

"Thank you very much, Crowley. I appreciate it, I really do". There was a hint of sadness in the angel's eyes. "But I still have to decline. I don't go to Oscar's plays"

"Oscar's?", said Crowley, taken aback. "You sound like you knew him"

He didn't know why, but he felt a stroke of jealousy right away. They stopped, although it was only a couple of steps to the bookshop.

"I did, and I must've told you"

"No, you never had"

"Well, then. Now you know"

Aziraphale looked down in deep sorrow.

"Was he your friend? A close one? I only heard things about his trial and the whole prison and moving to France affair. I wasn't here in Britain back then"

"I wouldn't call it friendship. It wasn't that long either".

Oh, Crowley thought. An affair. Well, what else could he expect, not talking to the angel for 80 years, leaving him in London full of discreet gentlemen's clubs, knowing full well how charming Aziraphale was... It was only natural he gained some attention. From gentlemen. Or one, in particular. A very scandalous one. 

Crowley was burning inside. Still, Wilde was long dead. Dead, tortured by imprisonment, defamed, and many other things he never deserved. Even if Crowley lacked common decency he had to fake it for Aziraphale's sake. He took a step closer to the angel who leaned his back on a wall with his chin on his chest, his lips shaking.

"Angel, are you alright?"

"I missed him for so long. And we only held hands and kissed a couple of times. But I still can't get over what they did to him. Those butchers!"

Aziraphale was kissed by the other man while Crowley was away, traveling America and Russia. His fists clenched, but he took a breath and tried to sound as sympathizing as he could.

"I'm very sorry about what happened. I feel ashamed for this country. No one deserved that, least of all your friend, angel"

Aziraphale tried to smile, but within a minute he broke down in tears. He closed his face with his hands, looking so small and helpless and unbearably sad.

He was sobbing in a way one could only do when mourning for someone dear. Seems like almost 100 years didn't make Wilde's death and imprisonment any easier. The jealously still stung in Crowley's heart, but the pity of the poor heartbroken angel was stronger.

"Angel, I'm sorry for all that happened to him. They should've never ruined a man and his life for what he was and who he loved. I didn't know much about this whole thing. I was somewhere else back then"

"He was a good man, Crowley, a rare man. And that boy never loved him, I tried to tell him. He cursed me and never talked to me again, and well, I was right". Crowley put his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders.

"Did you love him?"

"I don't know. He did something to my head when he was courting me, I've never been treated like that before"

Words felt like a stab in the stomach. That's how badly you treated your beloved angel, Crowley thought, that he was so desperate for love, he fell for that Wilde person so easily. He embraced Aziraphale carefully.

"He's at peace, angel. No one can hurt him now. His soul is at peace. Don't cry. And these laws are done. No one can ruin men's and women's lives in this country because of who they love. I'm here. I'll always be here for you"

The angel was silent, but his crying was softer now. His arms were now wrapped around Crowley. Crowley carefully kissed his forehead, then, without hesitation, picked him up and carried him to the bookshop, opening and closing the door with a snap of his fingers. Normally Aziraphale would've protested, but he was crying so hard he didn't mind. Crowley put him on the sofa, carefully, and sat close to him. Aziraphale embraced him and put his head to Crowley's chest.

"Angel, my sweet angel", Crowley whispered. "It's very good you remember him. It's a great thing to be remembered, especially by an angel. Humans are immortal, you must remember it, only their bodies die. Their souls live on. It's okay to cry, angel"

"I was so happy then, Crowley", Aziraphale whispered.

Another stab, only now in the heart. You failed to make him happy, Crowley told himself.

"You will be happy again, angel, I promise you"

"How can you promise me that?"

  
"I'll do anything to make you happy"

"Why?", Aziraphale asked, stopping to cry. 

"You know why"

"Why?"

"You're the one I care about the most, angel"

Their faces came all too close. Crowley felt angel's breath on his skin, but as much as he wanted to kiss him, he restrained himself, unwilling to take advantage of his vulnerability. Instead, he took a handkerchief out of his jacket and wiped the tears from Aziraphale's face.

"I was happy with you too, Crowley. Before we had that fight. You should know that"

Crowley smiled.

"Me too. But I'm always happy with you"

"You seem annoyed most of the time"

"I'm annoyed by how happy you make me"

They both laughed. Crowley closed his eyes and kissed angel's cheekbones, his forehead and the tip of his nose. Aziraphale giggled.

"Crowley, it's very dangerous for us to be that close"

"I'm cautious, angel. As always. No one needs to know"

"Crowley..."

Aziraphale leaned in to kiss Crowley, his face still wet from the tears. Crowley held him tenderly, fighting the inner hellfire of jealousy, knowing that the tears were shed for another man and fearing that the angel might pretend to be kissing him instead of Crowley. "I won't be intimidated by a dead poet's shadow", Crowley thought bitterly, this bitterness overbearing the sweetness of angel's lips. "I am a demon. I was gone then but I'm here now. I won't let him go. He's mine. He'll always be mine"

"I'll always be by your side", he whispered in Aziraphale's ear. "You can call me anytime. Tell me anything. I won't be gone. Not again"

Aziraphale sighed and smiled, at last.

"Thank you for being so understanding, Crowley. I was afraid to tell you about this"

"Afraid? Why?"

"I thought you'd mock me"

Another stab right in the heart.

"What am I, a monster? Heartless bastard? You cried, you lost your friend, how could I mock you?!"

"Not about his death. About our... Affair"

"It's none of my goddamn business"

It truly wasn't. But it didn't make it hurt any less. Didn't make the wound burn any lighter. 

"Thank you, Crowley. For everything. Do you want some tea?"

"I'd like some, yes. What about theatre, but another playwright? Shaw, maybe? Chekhov?"

"Oh, you're an expert in Russian drama. I'd be pleased to see something, great!"

Aziraphale went to the kitchen, his face almost dry and only a tiny bit red from crying, but all Crowley could think about was the ghost of a long-dead a much-suffered Irishman he didn't even know. Oscar. He thought he'd hate him, but he didn't. Instead, the thought of him became an obsession - what was he, that Crowley was not? What did he do that Crowley didn't?

When Aziraphale came back with the tea, Crowley smiled at him. He promised himself to never show his jealousy to the angel who suffered enough. But in his soul, demon Crowley was tortured. He once scoffed at someone who said that jealousy was made of hellfire. He only had to live for 6000 years to know it was true.


End file.
